Silex scintillans, or, Sacred poems and priuate eiaculations by Henry Vaughan ...

¶

THou that know'st for whom I mourne, And why these teares appeare, That keep'st account, till he returne Of all his dust left here; As easily thou mightst prevent As now produce these teares, And adde unto that day he went A faire supply of yeares. But 'twas my sinne that forc'd thy hand To cull this Prim-rose out, That by thy early choice forewarn'd My soule might looke about. O what a vanity is man! How like the Eyes quick winke His Cottage failes; whose narrow span Begins even at the brink! Nine months thy hands are fashioning us, And many yeares (alas!) E're we can lisp, or ought discusse Concerning thee, must passe; Yet have I knowne thy slightest things A feather, or a shell, A stick, or Rod which some Chance brings The best of us excell, Yea, I have knowne these shreds out last A faire-compacted frame And for one Twenty we have past Almost outlive our name. Thus hast thou plac'd in mans outside Death to the Common Eye, That heaven within him might abide, And close eternitie;

Hence, youth, and folly (mans first shame,) Are put unto the slaughter, And serious thoughts begin to tame The wise-mans-madnes Laughter; Dull, wretched wormes! that would not keepe Within our first faire bed, But out of Paradise must creepe For ev'ry foote to tread; Yet, had our Pilgrimage bin free, And smooth without a thorne, Pleasures had foil'd Eternitie, And ••a••e, had choakt the Corne. Thus by the Crosse Salvation runnes, Affliction is a mother, Whose painefull throws yield many sons, Each fairer than the other; A silent teare can peirce thy throne, When lowd Joyes want a wing, And sweeter aires streame from a grone, Than any arted string; Thus, Lord, I see my gaine is great, My lesse but little to it, Yet something more I must intreate And only thou canst doe it. O let me (like him,) know my End! And be as glad to find it, And whatsoe'r thou shalt Commend, Still let thy Servant mind it! Then make my soule white as his owne, My faith as pure, and steddy, And deck me, Lord, with the same Crowne Thou hast crownd him already!